


All the Stars and Boulevards

by wardo_wedidit



Series: But Blessed Was The Daylight [2]
Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Slice of Life, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MJ's making her Broadway debut, and the only thing that could make it more perfect is if Peter was there to see it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Stars and Boulevards

**Author's Note:**

> Written quickly to cheer myself up over the whole TASM MJ/Shai debacle. Title taken from [the Augustana song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=kBvc7upVc8U). Also I may have kind of borrowed a line from Spider-Man 2.

Even the professionals get stage fright. And MJ is nothing if not a professional. 

At least, that’s what she has to keep reminding herself as she breathes in and out in her dressing room. It’s not helping too much, considering how she can still hear the entire crew rushing around outside, preparing for curtain. 

There are a dozen roses on her makeup table, with a note from Peter. She hasn’t been able to bring herself to read it yet because she can’t make her hands stop shaking. 

She’s frustrated with herself, because she should be _excited_. This is her Broadway debut--she’s playing the lead, Satine, in a beloved musical, _Moulin Rouge_ , and she knows it all backwards and forwards. She couldn’t have been more confident before about an hour ago. This late jittery-ness is all just _silly._

“MJ?” Amy, the assistant stage director says, peeking her head in. MJ turns to look at her, pressing her ruby-red lips together to keep her composure. Amy smiles from the doorway. “Ten minutes ‘til curtain,” she sing-songs with a smile before flitting away. 

“Thanks Amy!” MJ calls after her, voice shaking a little, and then letting out a long, slow exhale. 

MJ removes her robe to smooth her hands down her first costume: a sparkling, diamond-studded leotard and black fishnet stockings. She rummages around for the matching top hat, and thinks how much easier it would be if she knew Peter were here. 

She wasn’t expecting it, of course. You can’t, really, when your boyfriend is _Spider-Man_. New York is a big city and it needs a lot of saving. She doesn’t hold it against him, not at all. Just. It would have been that more reassuring, to know he was sitting in the front row. 

She can’t help but smile a little as she imagines it... Peter practically bouncing in his seat as he waited for the play to start, his big, dorky grin when MJ first showed up onstage, the way he’d be the first one to hop out of his seat, whooping and clapping at the end, whistling during her bow. It calms her nerves a little bit, even if she knows it’s not real. 

He had been ridiculously proud the day she found out she got the role. The director had called in the middle of their dinner--nothing fancy, just spaghetti and meatballs they had made together, Aunt May’s recipe. Peter had rolled his eyes fondly when she practically jumped out of her chair to answer it. 

“Sorry!” she had called over her shoulder, grabbing her cell and swiping to answer it, answering with a cool, “Hello?”

Miraculously, she’d managed to maintain her collected demeanor all the way through the phone call, which is like a blur in her memory now. She _does_ remember, in crystal-clear detail, the feeling of Peter creeping up behind her as the phone call progressed, even with her back to him. By the time she hung up he was only a step or two behind her, and she spun around with her lip caught between her teeth to see Peter’s uncertain expression.  
“Well?” he asked, every muscle in his body tensed. 

MJ had broken out into a grin. “I got it! I got it!” she exclaimed, practically squealing, jumping up and down in place. 

Peter had laughed delightedly, stepping forward to close the space between them and throw his strong arms around her, picking her up and spinning her around in their tiny kitchen. “Congratulations!” he’d replied, voice warm right in her ear as she hugged him tight, laughing with joy now too. 

He’d set her back on her feet before long, hands cupping her face and leaning down to kiss her, firm and sure, but still sweet and gentle. When they had pulled back, MJ had been struck by how _wide_ his grin was, the way it made his eyes crinkle and shine and she had felt like it was just for her. 

They had gone back to sit down and eat again, chairs side-by-side. Peter had drawn his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged in his chair and reached out, catching her hand, and holding it through the rest of the meal while MJ chattered excitedly about how great it would be, agreeing and nodding in all the right places. He had beamed at her the entire way through the meal in a way that made her feel almost bursting with happiness. 

Later that night he had pressed her into the pillows and kissed her breathless, and she had held onto the wings of his shoulderblades in an effort to ground herself, to remind herself that yes, this was actually her life. That no matter how many days she didn’t understand how she possibly could have got here, she made it, and she wasn’t going to waste one second of it.

Back in the present, she allows herself a moment to shake her head, swim out of her reverie. Her fingers find the top hat, and she reaches up to set it purposefully on her head, just slightly askew the way she’s done a million times. Then she grabs for her long black gloves, pulling them up to her elbows, and skitters out to the wings, where the crew will hoist her up into her harness to and perch her on her swing in preparation for her first scene. 

Everyone’s a little nervous, what with it being opening night and all, so they take extra care and triple check everything while the preceding number continues. MJ hums along with it absent-mindedly even though she’s not in it--she’s heard it approximately a million times and is practically singing along while she runs through her own lyrics in her head, not to mention making small talk with the crew. 

Before long it’s her time, and they wish her luck as they hoist her up into the rafters, where MJ holds her breath and waits for her cue to start singing. It comes, and she sings loudly without hesitation. The way everything is blocked, the audience hears her before they see her, so it’s a few seconds before she feels the swing start to move, propelling her out into view of the audience. 

She’s lucky that Satine sings the first few lyrics with heavy pauses inbetween, meant to look out at her audience, which is exactly what MJ does. At first she’s really only pretending to look, a little aloof and dazed, but then something catches her eye and her eyes squint a little in focus. 

There’s _Peter_. 

Sitting there in the very front row. 

His hair is a windswept mess and his cheeks are flushed, like he ran here, or just made it inside after swinging around the city, but he’s wearing his glasses and his eyes are bright, and MJ lays eyes on him in time to see his expression change from jaw-dropping wonder at the fantastical nature of it all to glowing, grinning delight as she appears. 

In reality, it is only a second or two at most, but it feels like a lifetime to MJ as she pauses, eyes fixed on Peter. They make eye contact and she can see him wave, practically vibrating in his seat. MJ smirks a little, turning her head and playing it off as Satine, continuing to sing despite this feeling that the bright, intense happiness she feels might just _burst_ right out of her. 

All throughout the play, she is proud of how focused she manages to stay. Her gaze only darts to Peter at appropriate moments, and more often than not she gets swept up in the action of the play, the rush of _performing_ , the easy give-and-take with her costars. 

MJ thought it would take forever the first time, but somehow it manages to fly by and it’s the finale, and everything’s concluding right before her eyes. She’s belting out the lyrics, in manufactured tears, as her costar does the same, all the extras and special effects surrounding them in enormous, sparkling spectacle. Glitter explodes and rose petals fall, and everyone is clapping and cheering, and then it’s time for her dramatic death scene. 

It’s almost as if everything grinds to a halt. The audience falls silent, as does the rest of the cast, and the only sound audible to MJ’s ears are her Christian’s tears and the sniffles of audience members. 

From the position she’s at in his embrace lying on the ground, facing the audience, she can see Peter quite clearly. There are tear tracks down his cheeks as he watches her die, and MJ’s heart breaks a little bit to see it. His knees are drawn up into his lap, arms around them and he’s swallowing thickly, and there is an ache in her chest and suddenly she can’t _wait_ to see him--needs him to hold her in his arms. 

But first the curtain must fall, and then there are bows and flowers thrown onstage. The house lights have gone up and it’s too bright to see Peter now, but she’s sure the reality isn’t far from the imagined scene in her mind earlier. Next come the tight, relieved, congratulatory hugs from the cast and crew backstage, and before she even knows it, a full half hour’s passed as she rushes to her dressing room. 

MJ throws open the door, breathing heavy. Peter is standing at her makeup table, back to her, coat under one arm and backpack slung over a shoulder. 

He turns to face her slowly, a watery smile dawning on his face and a soft look in his eyes. “Mary Jane,” he says, voice clear and wavering, and suddenly she can’t stand there another second without tumbling forward into his arms. 

Peter lets out a little “oof” at the impact but catches her, arms surrounding her and holding her close as she buries her face into his chest, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck and squeezing him tight. He kisses her hair and murmurs quiet things that she can’t hear but nonetheless loosen the knot in her stomach, make it easier for her to breathe. 

“Mary Jane,” he repeats, louder this time as she tries to nuzzle further into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “Mary Jane, you were so _amazing_ ,” he says, smoothing down her hair and toying with a curl at the end between his fingers. “You were _fantastic_ , just--”

She pulls away a little, regaining herself and cutting him off with a forced, cracked laugh as she wipes at her eyes, trying to erase tears that weren’t there five minutes ago like maybe he won’t see them. It’s all a little self-conscious, almost self-deprecating, and she can’t explain why she is suddenly embarrassed at herself. 

But Peter just takes her hands from her, wiping at her cheeks with his thumbs as he gently cradles her face, brow furrowing. “Hey,” he whispers, close. “Mary Jane, don’t. You _were,_ ” he says insistently. “You were--amazing. You absolutely broke my heart,” he continues, smile winning out, placing one hand over his heart, in demonstration or in honesty MJ isn’t sure. She laughs again, only this time it is _real_ and Peter leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

"I didn't," she replies, gasping a little and still trying to catch her breath, "I didn't think you'd _be_ here." She turns a little to face the roses, as if in explanation, but Peter catches her chin with two fingers and turns her head to meet his eyes. 

He is grinning again, and somehow looking at her like she is the most beautiful thing in the world. She’s seen this look from him before--but never head-on. It’s the kind of thing you catch by accident, out of the corner of your eye, when you’re too distracted to stop and pay attention. She’s caught it sidelong when she’s waking up and Peter is stroking her hair, watching her eyes open... or when she’s said something snarky, maybe, but here it is, looking her right in the eye, and it kind of knocks the wind out of her. Because it’s happening _now_ , with mascara-stained cheeks and half of her fair falling out of it’s overdone up-do and covered in glitter from the finale and in this overly-ornate costume, which she was still feeling a little bit ridiculous in until right now. 

“Mary Jane,” he says, and his voice is pure _warmth_ , “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He tangles their fingers together and draws her in for a real kiss, and MJ can’t help but gasp into it, because she knows exactly what he means. 

Peter is Spider-Man. It’s not always convenient, but it’s who he is. MJ knows that, she respects it, and she’s slowly growing used to it. So for him to say that, like there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to avoid missing her Broadway debut makes butterflies flit around in her stomach and a flush flood to her cheeks. She may not be a city in peril, but Peter is still there for her when she needs him, even when she doesn’t have to ask. She knew that on some level of course, but it’s nice to be reminded. 

He’s still smiling small and intimate when she pulls away, and MJ, feeling more like herself, can’t help but grin fully back. “C’mon, help me get out of this costume; I have to go sign autographs for my adoring fans,” she says, teasing now, flipping her hair over her shoulder before reaching out to pull the bobby pins from her head. Peter throws his head back in a full laugh, and MJ bites her lip to avoid laughing along. 

Later, he watches with pride as she signs autographs at the stage door. When she’s finished, he takes her hand and pulls her in, kissing the top of her head, walking hand-in-hand the whole way home. 

At night in their bed, MJ is hovering at the edge of sleep when Peter whispers into her hair, smoothing his thumb over the curve of her shoulder as he holds her close against his chest. 

“If I could, I’d be there every night. Right in the front row.”

MJ smiles sleepily, eyes still closed and nuzzling deeper into his touch. “You can’t,” she murmurs, happiness coloring her voice, lighting it up. 

Peter sighs, chest rising and falling. “I know,” he exhales, not quite resigned. 

MJ turns in his embrace, opening her eyes and reaching up to press a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his lips, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “I love you,” she says simply. “And thank you.”

She settles her chin against his shoulder, lips brushing lightly against the rise of his collarbone. “I love you too,” he replies, and then it’s just the two of them, comfortable and content and at home, as always. 

As MJ listens to his breaths even out in sleep, she allows herself a moment to take a mental snapshot of this time. The two of them taking on the world, together every step of the way.


End file.
